


Run Smooth

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: Were the World Mine (2008)
Genre: Community: help_haiti, First Time, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Safe, consensual sex is had between two young adults who are in a serious, monogamous* relationship with each other. Aka, total smut.<br/>*A serious relationship is not necessarily monogamous, but this one is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Smooth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Simplelyric as a part of the Help-Haiti event.
> 
> Was up only on Dreamwidth until May 15, as part of the "Three Weeks for Dreamwidth" event.

It's not that Jonathon didn't like holding hands. Holding hands was fucking awesome – especially when they did it on the street, because even with everything that had happened, and with other couples in town now who looked a little more like the two of them, it still pumped up Jonathon's adrenaline to be walking around this town, holding another boy's hand.

This used to be forbidden, and now he could have it. He loved the feel of Timothy's hand in his, its contours, its size, and the casual contact they held proudly, declaring to the world, "I am with the best guy in town."

Jonathon _loved_ holding hands.

It was just that he was kind of ready to be done with the hand-holding part and move on to the sweaty grunting and moaning part.

The two of them would make out for hours by the lake, in a little nook protected by vegetation from view, in that spot where the bicycle path veered off. Their shirts were half off half the time, and some days Jonathon felt like if he didn't get to fuck Timothy soon, his dick would literally fall off.

The way he put it to Timothy was a little more delicate. "I really want to," he said when Timothy came up for air. Timothy's lips were swollen from kisses and his face flushed, and he was so beautiful Jonathon had to close his eyes and think about ice cubes sliding down his shirt in order to hold on to some modicum of control.

"Oh god." Timothy pulled away from him. In a few seconds' time, Jonathon heard splashing and opened his eyes to see Timothy ducking his head into the water. He laughed, only to turn away again quickly because, goddammit, Timothy was bent over in a most suggestive way, and he still had that habit of wearing jeans tight enough to cut off circulation.

It was the last week before the end of school, all exams were over and done with, and they had very little else to do but hang out together and wait for rejection letters from colleges. There was even the tantalizing prospect of a contract for Jonathon, as a rugby team scout had asked Coach Driskill for his number. Everything was changing. This should have been the time of Jonathon's life where he thought about his future, made plans, and prepared to end an era of his life, but none of that seemed important.

He'd always shaken his head at kids who gave up on college to start families. He'd never thought he'd be one, but right now, he was starting to get where they were coming from. If you're not in my college, I'm not going to college, he'd told Timothy. It was true, too. It might be a bit of a problem, though, since Timothy was mainly applying to music and drama schools, and Jonathon was still better at rugby.

"You know we can't," said Timothy, his hair and face dripping with cool lake water. "Not unless you want to rent a motel room, and in this town, it'd take your mom two seconds to find out about it."

"Can you believe she's okay with me being bi but won't hear of sex before marriage?"

Timothy grinned, one of those big, happy, impish smiles of his. "Wanna go on a trip to Massachusetts?"

"Let's." Jonathon sat up and reached for his bag. Timothy's smile vanished.

"I was kidding!"

 

"I have a stay-at-home mom and yours is in and out of the house all the time with those make up kits. Have you got any better ideas?"

They both had the same thought at the same time. Their eyes met, and they spoke together.

"Frankie."

*

Frankie had been having sex at home since she was sixteen.

"I've got half a tube of lube left in the master bedroom cupboard that you can use," said Frankie's mother. "I've been very hygienic with it, I promise. You can use up what's left if you like. I don't know if you boys brought your own condoms, but just in case you want variety, here's a selection of flavours." She beamed at the two blushing boys from behind her sandy, unkempt curls and pushed a number of packets into both their hands. "They're all 100% biodegradable."

"They would be," Jonathon muttered in a daze. Frankie's house had its own compost and a small vegetable garden patch at the back, and the hallway was decorated with paintings of the star signs. Jonathon didn't like to stereotype, but it was difficult to keep the word 'hippie' from springing to mind.

"Thanks, Kate," Timothy mumbled.

"You boys have fun, now." Kate picked up her handbag from the table and swept another emasculating look over them that squealed without words, 'How adorable.'

"You're lucky," Frankie said with a lopsided smile. "She doesn't usually clear out for my sake."

"Come on, you," said Kate and took Frankie by the arm. "It's been a long time since I've been to the city anyway." She looked at her watch. "Gee, we have to hurry now, baby."

"Cold pizza in the fridge," Frankie added as she was pulled towards the door. "See ya."

Jonathon and Timothy were left alone in the hallway to Frankie's small house, each grasping a handful of condoms.

"I'm sorry," Timothy said, staring down at the floor. "This isn't how I planned it."

Jonathon burst into nervous laughter. "Wanna order a fresh pizza and light a candle or something?"

"They'll be gone all night. Want to go out to dinner first? Something nice?"

"I have something nice." Jonathon stepped up closer to Timothy and pushed a hand against his flat belly. "I have you."

Timothy almost giggled. "What a stupid line." But he didn't push Jonathon's hand away.

"I also have a handful of biodegradable condoms," Jonathon added, brushing his lips against Timothy's ear. One step, and Timothy was backed up against the wall. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bumping against Jonathon's cheek.

"Okay," said Timothy, swallowing, "that's not actually better." His hand found its way up to the back of Jonathon's neck and rubbed it, gently nudging his head closer. They kissed, mouth moving on mouth, soft and wet and welcoming. Jonathon fumbled for the living room door, not wanting to break the contact. They stumbled through together, still kissing.

Jonathon blinked at the flickering, soft light that filled the room and then broke away from Timothy in surprise. There were candles set up and lit around the simple living room, accentuated by the faint evening light still filtering through the blinds. There was a bowl of chocolates on the table, two glasses, and a wine bottle.

"This, I kind of did plan," Timothy said with a grin.

Jonathon had only been openly bi for about three months, and therefore Jonathon did not squeal. He did, however, tackle Timothy on the spot, and they fell onto the sofa, laughing. Timothy's whip-thin body was tight against Jonathon's, and he kissed him and kissed him, fingers tracing that beautiful impish face, legs locking around his hips.

Timothy moved against him, between him and the couch, his body undulating just in time with Jonathon's, and though Jonathon knew he should pace himself, he kind of didn't want to. He kind of wanted to shove his hand up Timothy's shirt and feel his muscles working, touch that hollow part of his chest, feel the touch of soft hair there. So he did. Such a simple thing, but Jonathon could feel the thrill of it all the way down in his toes.

Jonathon had read enough porn of all kinds to know what they were supposed to do, but he couldn't think of that now or it'd fry up his brain. All he wanted to do was touch Timothy, all over, everywhere. But he needed to know they weren't doing anything Timothy wasn't ready for.

By Timothy's breathing, he guessed he was doing all right so far.

"Kiss me," Timothy commanded, and Jonathon did, meshing their lips together. _His tongue. Oh my god._ Timothy's tongue was lashing his, and somehow they shifted against each other, and it was that shift that made all the difference. Suddenly Jonathon was _there_, ready to go any second Timothy wanted him to. This was happening. This was really fucking happening.

They fit together as if they were made for this, Timothy's arms around Jonathon, their legs entangled, the two of them locked at the mouth. Timothy's shirt was all the way up to his armpits by now, and Jonathon was kissing around his nipple, flicking his tongue out to it just once, and Timothy's head lolled back, gasping, his hands pulling at Jonathon's shirt.

They rolled and ended up on the floor, Jonathon with his back on the fluffy white carpet and Timothy straddling him, face golden in the candlelight. He was moving too, up and down, a tantalizing rub of their hips together through their pants, and Jonathon growled, bucked up against him. The condoms were scattered around them on the floor.

"Please," said Jonathon without really knowing what he was asking for, except that he wanted it now, right now, please, thank you. Timothy's hands encircled his waist and pushed up his white shirt, unbuttoning just the last two buttons. He followed his touch with his mouth, laying kisses and nibbles on Jonathon's belly, on his ribs. Then, with one quick, grinning glance up, Timothy popped the button of Jonathon's jeans.

"Holy fuck," whispered Jonathon, biting his lip.

Even in the half-light, he could tell Timothy's face was flushed as he began to tug down the zipper. Jonathon was bulging, hard, and his cock bounced up happily when released from its confines, with nothing but flannel between it and Timothy's lips hovering not an inch above. It was almost more than Jonathon could bear to look at, so he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the carpet, needing it but not putting his hand on Timothy to steer him, because this had to be done exactly the way Timothy wanted it done.

"You sure?" Jonathon asked.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Timothy giggled. "Yes, oh Jesus fucking Christ, yes."

Jonathon might have objected to the blasphemy if it weren't the very expression on his own mind, and what they were doing was pretty damn holy. Jesus, he felt, could not disagree.

He loved Timothy. Absolutely loved him, and though he'd said it before, the thought now filled him up with a light that made him grin like an idiot into the semi-darkness.

Jonathon felt - because he still didn't trust himself to look - Timothy pull his boxers down, and he lifted his hips when Timothy tugged his pants down. He could hear Timothy's sigh, like someone coming home after a hard day or a prospector unearthing treasure, and this made Jonathon look. Timothy was bent over him, mouth so close to his skin it was almost touching. He fumbled blindly for a condom and ripped the packet open, shooting Jonathon an excited grin.

Jonathon closed his eyes again as Timothy placed the condom reverently on the tip of his cock and began to roll it down. Jonathon gripped the long hairs of the fluffy carpet and lay as still as he could. The light touch of Timothy's fingers traveling down his length was the final draw.

"For fuck's sake, Timothy," Jonathon gasped. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

There was a breathy laugh, and then, as if he couldn't wait any longer either, Timothy's hot mouth closed over the head of Jonathon's cock. He just popped it into his mouth like a lollipop, without even a hint of warning, without mercy. His tongue began to circle it, spiraling it exquisitely, and Jonathon's eyes nearly rolled back in his head. "Oh _God_," he blasphemed at last. "Oh fuck, Timothy."

Timothy's hand joined his mouth, rounded thumb flicking underneath the tip, fingers curled around it, moving down with his mouth following, for Christ's sake, and the tip of Jonathon's dick was now tickling the back of his throat. Timothy began to move his hand rhythmically, up and down, and made a muffled noise, something like need and almost something like fulfilment. When Jonathon dared to look down, he saw Timothy's dark head bopping at an angle, could see how blissful Timothy's face was, how his eyelids were closed, long lashes painting shadows on his cheeks. Jonathon realized he wanted to do what Timothy was doing, so badly, and to Timothy. But, God. Right then he didn't think he could move.

He bucked his hips up, nearly tearing the carpet as he tried to stop from grabbing Timothy's head and forcing it down. Timothy laid his hand on Jonathon's belly, holding him down, choosing his own rhythm. Jonathon couldn't relax, but he stayed as still against the carpet as he could, for as long as he could. It was agony; it was bliss. "I can't," he panted. "I'm com-uhh. Tim-othy."

Timothy let Jonathon's dick pop out of his mouth just long enough to say, "Come on, then," and then he was back to his task, massaging, licking, sucking, wet and slippery and tight, and it was just too much at last.

Need. Couldn't breathe. Body tight as a bowstring. Heaven.

Jonathon fell, gasping, back against the carpet. His limbs were shaking. "Timothy," he said. "Oh God, Timothy."

"Not so bad for my first time, hmm?" Timothy said. His voice was hoarse and Jonathon could see a glimmer of saliva on the edge of his mouth and it made him almost want to come again straight away. He pulled Timothy up and kissed him rather thoroughly. He wasn't the only one shaking, he found.

"Timothy," he said. He was usually better than this with words, but Timothy seemed to have robbed him of them. He could feel Timothy hard against his leg, still in his pants and shirt. He grabbed Timothy's buttocks, a lovely fleshy bit on his thin frame, and ground their hips together. The look on Timothy's face and the strangled moan he made were quite a reward.

"Get out of those pants," Jonathon growled, and Timothy's hands went obediently to that task. Jonathon helped him out of those tight jeans and reached for a biodegradable condom, but Timothy stopped his hand.

"No time," Timothy hissed. "Seriously. Just this." He guided Jonathon's hand to his own cock and wrapped both their hands around it.

Jonathon stared, fascinated, at the steel-hard length in his hand. Uncircumcised. Hard as rock. Beautiful. He pulled, and Jonathon bent backwards against the edge of the couch. He moves like a dream, Jonathon thought through the haze of sex. Every movement Timothy made was so purely himself. Jonathon reached up to cup Timothy's face even as it twisted in pleasure intense enough to be indistinguishable from pain. Jonathon's hand was now holding the tip of Timothy's slick penis, moisture melding them together, and he pumped, coaxed, forced the pleasure out of his beautiful boy until Timothy's body went stiff as a rod and warm wetness spread between Jonathon's fingers.

"Oh, love," Jonathon breathed. "Oh, Timothy. I'll follow you to fucking hell and back."

Timothy grabbed himto himself, kissing him harshly, possessively. They were getting each other messy. Neither of them really minded.

*

Less than ten minutes later, they were in the kitchen, the tap running, trying to decide between the paper towels - disposable but rough - and the kitchen towel. "It's not like they'll know," argued Timothy, but Jonathon remained firm. One thing a guest did not do was wipe cum stains on the host's kitchen towels.

They cleaned up, stopping to kiss every now and then. Jonathon's fingers itched to get back on Timothy's dick, if only to feel the utter delicious otherness of it. But not here. Not in the kitchen.

"Let's go to the bedroom," he said at last.

*

Their hosts had set them a bed in the single guest bedroom, which doubled as an office when the bed was folded up against the wall. Now it filled the room almost from wall to wall, surrounded by books and stacks of books, bordered on one side by a desk with an old desktop computer. They even had pajamas laid out. Timothy and Jonathon slipped into them, not really knowing if it were silly, just that it was expected. Jonathon was reminded of childhoods visiting relatives and was instantly weirded out.

"We can just sleep if you want," Timothy said. Jonathon wasn't sure if he wanted to waste one minute of their time together on sleep, but then they were under the covers, cuddled up together, Timothy's longer frame curled around Jonathon's, and right then everything was perfect and just where it should have been.

"Shit," said Jonathon suddenly, his eyes flying open.

"What?" Timothy's voice was already sleepy.

"We forgot to blow out the candles."

They spent the next fifteen minutes not burning down Frankie's house.


End file.
